The Joker begins
by Ministryofchaos
Summary: Early life of the Joker plus how he got his scars. Contains some violence.


**This is my first bit of fanfiction so please be nice.**

**Disclaimer: I dont own the Joker or any of the Dark knight characters. (though I wish I did.)**

**Enjoy! please review.**

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Night had fallen. A woman sat at the kitchen table holding her head in her hands. She was quite young but looked far older, her fair hair now limp and strawlike, her skin the same colour as sour milk and her eyes that were once a bright sparkling blue now dull and seemed like a gateway into a world of sadness and fear.

She hadn't had a good life, lost her father at twelve, fell pregnant at sixteen and was kicked out of her mothers home for being "a disgusting whore". Her mother had stopped trying to help her long ago, ever since she'd met and started seeing that "fiend" despite her mothers protests, and now she was carrying his child aged just sweet sixteen.

Fast forward nine months on, she gave birth in an alleyway. A baby boy. She stared at it in disbelief and fear and then fell unconcious.

she woke up in a hospital after being found by a passer by, her son in a cradle by the bed. She looked at it like she was staring at an animal in the zoo. His hair was fair like hers, and he gazed back at her with hard hazel eyes, his fathers eyes. Next she noticed a man in the room with dark hair, cold brown eyes and had a stench of cigarette smoke about him. He was about ten years her senior and as he approached her she knew who he was right away and froze. He leant over her so that he was inches from her terrified face. He opened his mouth and she immediately caught a stench of his breath; he'd been drinking.

"Hello darlin" he drawled, baring his yellow teeth in a fierce smirk.

Eleven years had passed and there she was at the table of their rented hovel worrying about the arrival home of her husband. He was out drinking as usual and she knew what was coming when he got home, a punch, a slap, a kick. And right in front of their son.

Her eleven year old son sat at the other end of the table, a dull gormless boy with lank dirty blond hair and waxy skin. He didn't show any pity for his suffering mother, in fact he seemed amused by it, like a spider zoning in on a fly trapped in a web. He had grown up on violence and chaos within his home and it seemed natural to him. He felt no emotion towards his mother and even less towards his father. In fact he hated him, had often thought about going and slitting his throat while he was asleep but had often backed out of it.

A door slamming caused them both to jump. Looking up she saw her husband slumped against the wall, reeking of booze and smoke and a mad look in his eyes. _A drinker and a fiend. _She immediately sensed the danger. "WHERE IS HE?" growled her husband drowsily. Yep, completely pissed out of his head. "Run" she hissed at her son before turning to her husband "who darling?" she forced a weak smile, hoping to calm him down. Instead she found herself lying face down on the concrete ground, her nose bleeding. He brought back his fist for another blow, "DON'T SASS ME YOU SLUT!! YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT!!!!" She genuinely didn't and cried out in pain as he grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her to her knees. He was prone to these dilusions after a good few pints. "Please" she pleaded,not in front of.." she motioned at the boy, who hadnt left the table. He smiled grimmly and pulled harder on her hair causing tears of pain to fill her eyes " Dont worry he's gonna get it too" he hissed " for all I know he's been helping you, you dirty slag". At this she managed to pull free from his grasp in a fit of panic, managing to tear a few hairs from her scalp in the process. She didnt feel the pain as she raced across the kitchen and grabbed the kitchen knife, trying to defend herself and her son. She pointed it at her husband and whispered " stay away you,you monster!" He looked threatning for a moment and then his face softened as he put on a grin. " Now darlin', we both know you wouldn't do that". He said it civally enough but there was a sharp edge to it that only his son heard. He crossed the kitchen until he stood in front of her and almost gently lowered her hand. For a moment her face looked determined but then it softened and her grip on the knife loosened. Bad idea. Her husband cackled and suddenly snatched the knife from her hand and grabbed her other wrist. Her face paled with fear as he raised the knife. Noticing the look on her face, he stopped for a minute and tutted. Leaning forward he whispered hoarsely in her ear "why so serious?"

She froze and he plunged the blade into her stomach and then her chest. She gasped and shuddered and he let her fall to the floor where she writhed in her own blood for a few minutes before she lay still, still and dead.

Her son watched it all, even he was somewhat confused at what had just happened. He gazed at his mothers body as his father straigthened up and came towards him, carrying the bloody weopon. "Boy" he barked. The son looked up, emotionless as usual. "why so serious?" his father asked and he suddenly grabbed him and pinned him up against the wall. "Why so serious?" he repeated. The boy just gazed back at him. His father smiled grimmly and stuck the blade into the corner of the sons mouth. The boy could taste the blood and the steel of the knife. "lets put a smile on that face!" his father slurred.

The boy was numb to what happened next, all he knew was that his father had done something to his mouth and the corners were all sticky with something. Disgusted that the child showed no reaction his father dropped him on the ground, spat at him and left the hovel. The boy felt around the sides of his mouth and winced at the pain, the first real pain he'd felt. Something wet and red came away with his hand. Blood. He stared at it and then looked at his dead mother. Rising, he went to the bathroom and gazed at the mirror and started. There were two red gashes at the sides of his mouth, dripping blood. He looked like one of those stupid clowns in the circus, only freakier.

Yet as he stared at himself he began to like the look, it gave him an identity, a trademark. And he liked this.

He decided he needed to get out of there before the police came. He returned to the kitchen where he noticed his fathers coat lying on the ground. He rooted through it, trying to find something of value. He pocketed a wallet and for some reason a pack of playing cards. He didn't know why himself, but he just had a feeling. He wiped away the blood around his mouth so as not to draw attention while he escaped. He knew that they would scar, and this he smiled at. Now he wouldn't be able to stop smiling.

This made him laugh. He pocketed the knife too, for safekeeping. Looking once more at his murdered mother without any feeling whatsoever, he turned and left the house. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew was that he was going.

As he walked away he thought to himself _My father was a petty excuse for a murderer, this world deserves a better class of criminal, someday, I'm gonna give it to 'em._

And he laughed.

THE END.

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**So thats my story of how the Joker got his scars! Thanks for reading! :):)**


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